Barely a week after arriving at his posting in Ravnice, Harpis was sent by the governor back north to gather news from the Hall. He hoped his haste and diligence in making it to The Hall and back in three days would, if nothing else, help show he was dedicated to his craft and his position.

He finished making his way from the wharf to the governor’s mansion at the edge of the city as the sun sank over the distant mountains of Fjall.

Though Aanaman Reaper was the only governor Harpis had met, he was confident that the man was likely the least political one he would ever encounter. Aanaman had been plowing and harvesting the corn and wheat fields of Ravnice since he could walk. His face wore his forty-some years like they had been eighty, yet his body still held the muscular frame of a farmhand, and his curly red hair had yet to show any grey.

Harpis neared the governor’s home and nodded to the two militiamen who stood guard day and night outside the wrought iron fence surrounding it.

Passing through the home’s entryway, he made straight for the stairs to the second story and Aanaman’s office. He was halfway across the foyer when two tiny voices shouted “Harris!” at him. He paused to wave at Aanaman’s young twin girls, who had yet to pronounce his name correctly, and exchanged a smile and nod of greeting with their mother, Shanowen, who stood behind them.

As he made his way up the staircase, he heard her chide the twins. “Off to bed now, you two, or I’ll have the bard sing you to sleep.”

Harpis was certain the comment was more for his benefit than a threat the girls would take seriously. Shanowen had been grateful on Harpis’ second day in Ravnice when he had gotten the exasperatingly energetic girls to nap with a lullaby. He had decided before initially reaching Ravnice that he would keep the magical gift he wielded secret from the untrusting governor and his family, weaving it sparingly, gently, and only when necessary.

Approaching the door to the office, he could hear the militia captain, a near-constant fixture at the office table, and Aanaman heatedly debating something about corn and distilleries. The governor was far more likely to talk about his crops or his whiskey than discuss politics. The guard outside motioned for him to pause and struck the door with the butt of his spear.

“Yes?” came the short reply from inside. “The bard has returned. Shall I send him in?” the guard responded.

“That’s fine,” Aanaman answered. “See him in, thank you.”

The guard opened the door and motioned Harpis inside.

“The bard has a name, you know,” he said to the guard as he passed.

“Does he then?” replied Aanaman from his desk. “Come in, Harris!” Aanaman said, clearly amused at using the name his children called the bard.

The door shut behind Harpis, and Aanaman bid him sit in the seat next to the captain at the small wooden meeting table in the office.

“Should I be worried that your bard comes in here armed, Aanaman?” the captain said while glancing at Harpis’ boot knife and the odd boat hook and rope belt around his waist.

“Well, Harris, should I be worried?” Aanaman asked from behind his desk, his frosty green eyes still belying some distrust.

“Only if you’re a fat, freshly caught fish,” Harpis answered, hoping his levity would resolve the matter.

“There, see Captain Kilannry, no need for me to worry. Although if you keep putting on the weight, Harpis here may mistake you for a fat fresh-caught fish in need of fileting.”

“I suppose you could keep the knife,” the captain huffed.

Aanaman held up his hand to end the banter. “Well, what news from the Hall?”

Harpis drew out the parchment he had taken notes on and went through some discussion of trade and other minutiae from other corners of the island before clearing his throat and covering what he considered the important news.

“Sir, it seems that pirates attacked the Tuath governor’s ship on its way to Mer for the council. That is what delayed the quarterly meeting. They suffered heavy casualties in the fighting, and apparently, the governor himself was kidnapped and taken to the other ship. He later escaped, diving overboard after killing one of his captors.”

Aanaman took his boots off his desk and sat up straight. “This is unfortunate. It seemed that Tuath had already been on a rough road. This attack is likely to send them over the edge of reason.”

Harpis paused for a moment. “There is one more item, sir.”

Aanaman waved for him to get on with it. Harpis was not sure how he felt about spreading the information. It had been odd for the news to not come from the unified ledger the bards of different regions kept at the Hall. Instead, the Impresario had personally brought the bards present at the time to his quarters and told them Mer perpetrated the raid on the governor’s ship and likely also the murder of his cousin, the former governor.

“There is…rumor, sir, that it was Mer who both murdered Seulman Tuath and attempted to kidnap of Myrlman.”

Aanaman scoffed loudly. “What absolute horse dung! I have no love for the man, but Edwin Lurras of Mer is incapable of such conniving or cruelty on his worst day. Despite how much he and Seulman hated each other, it doesn’t seem likely.”

Harpis could only shrug in response. He felt he had kept his integrity. He was content in passing the supposed news from the Impresario as rumors heard and nothing more.

Aanaman looked at his desk thoughtfully for a moment before addressing Harpis. “Well done. My thanks for the hasty trip to Tuath and back, Harpis. I leave in the morning to make my way to Mer for the postponed council meeting. By the sound of it, the experience should be quite an interesting one. Perhaps for once, I won’t spend the entire time regretting my foray into politics.”

Aanaman then stood and made his way around his desk to stand in front of Harpis. “Admittedly, I was not sure I saw much of a point in having a court appointment from The Hall or The College of Elements ever again, but you have thus far proved quite useful. Get an earned drink or three and some rest. Captain Kilannry will be in charge in my absence. Please at least check in on him some time daily and make sure he isn’t up here asleep or drunk.”

In response, the captain raised an empty glass, shaking it at Aanaman. “You’ll be taking at least ten of our senior men at arms with you to this likely quarrelsome council meeting, my lord.”

Rolling his eyes, Aanaman poured the man’s glass full. “As you wish, Field Marshall Kilannry.”

Harpis bid the men farewell and headed out towards the wharf. He had his own drinking engagement with a cantankerous old gnome and mysterious third companion.

*****

It was already dark when Harpis reached the morgue door. The first floor was lightless, and the door locked. After knocking several times to no avail, Harpis unslung the fiddle from his shoulder and began playing. After only a few notes, the second-story window was flung open.

“Weren’t they supposed to teach you to play that confounded thing?” The gnome said.

“I am better after a few glasses, and there is no drink out here to improve my talents, so unless you let me in, I shall continue this sober rehearsal where I now stand,” Harpis smiled as the window slammed and after a moment heard the door in front of him unlatch.

Wren only had two chairs, and the small wooden one at the gnome-sized table would not hold him, but the cushioned chair near the fireplace was built for a human and was comfortable enough. As Wren got them glasses, Harpis quickly recounted what he had learned at the Hall. Wren seemed even more concerned than Aanaman. Harpis shared the odd fashion in which the Impresario had implicated Mer.

Wren scoffed at the report. “That song-pandering cousin of the Tuath governor is probably spreading whatever propaganda best suits his family and his city-state. True or not, the fact that such information is circulating is troublesome indeed. Those two northern idiots who happen to be governors have been itching for conflict with each other for years. It sounds like the young man from Tuath is keen to create it.”

The gnome pulled the wooden chair to a spot across Harpis by the fireplace and handed him a glass.

Harpis stopped him before he began pouring. “Now, you promised a third for our company this evening.”

Wren pointed at Harpis in a warning. “Don’t say I didn’t try and spare you.”

He snapped his fingers and turned to get the shot glass off the table. The sulfuric smoke appeared on the arm of the cushioned chair.

Through it, Xissay strutted, eyeing Harpis up and down. “This must be the musical moron you mentioned. He’s more handsome than you said.”

Wren handed her the glass. “I didn’t say he was handsome at all. Harpis of nowhere, this is Xissay of The Great Dream, my poor excuse for an undead familiar.”

Xissay winked at him. “Nice to finally meet you. Old corpse lover here won’t stop going on about you.” Wren had been moving to fill her glass but stopped instead and simply glared at the sprite.

Harpis picked up his leather fiddle case from beside the chair, and opening it, he took out an unopened bottle of whiskey and handed it to Wren to pour instead. “Courtesy of Governor Aanaman’s finest barrel.”

“I like this one already, Wren. I think we should keep him,” she said, sipping the whiskey he had poured.

“As opposed to what, throwing him back into the sea? I had been considering it, but I doubt we could lift him,” Wren huffed, setting down the bottle.

“You any good at playing that thing?” Xissay asked, pointing to the fiddle.

“Actually, I am quite talented,” Harpis said with a grin.

Wren choked on his drink, spitting and spewing whiskey from his nose and mouth into the fireplace. The momentary flare of the flames accentuated Xissay’s anguished expression as he began to play.

*****

Relying on others made Sirul extremely uncomfortable. Depending on the mask’s illusion made him doubly so. Until he could get by as Myrlman entirely without its illusion, the mask was a liability, and his retirement plan was at risk. Worse, the drain on his vitality that the mask incurred while he wore it was debilitating by the end of each day.

However, what agonized the solitary killer most, was that he was seldom alone in playing the part of Myrlman Tuath. Transitioning from a life where his shadow had been his only company for over a decade to being the center of attention was fraying Sirul’s sanity.

At times he felt almost trapped in what was supposed to be a life of carefree frivolity. Each day he was growing more impatient for the next steps in his plan to unfold.

Finally looking up from the desk in front of him, he stared in silence at the fidgeting admiral who oversaw the portion of Tuath’s navy that patrolled its harbor area. The post-battle Myrlman Tuath, played by Sirul, seemed to make a lot of folks nervous. Many had started talking about how difficult he was to read and how the death of his father and the attempted kidnapping had drastically changed the young man.

“There is a merchant vessel flagged out of Kalt carrying salted meats and furs. It has green sails, and you should see at least one of its crew ventures to the wharf vendor who sells netting and repair materials. You will arrest them and likely find them passing intelligence. If that is indeed the case, you will execute them on the spot and burn their vessel as a message to any other agents of Mer in our midst,” Sirul said.

The admiral sat up straighter. “Of course, Governor, how did you know of these traitors?”

Sirul almost panicked. He was skilled in slaughter and stealth, but he had little experience in weaving great lies.

“Uh, it was brought to me by someone,” he said, looking for a suitable answer.

The admiral provided it for him. “One of your cousin’s bards, I assume?”

“Of course,” Sirul replied, dismissing the admiral with a wave.

As he watched the admiral leave, he almost told the man to forget the matter and that he would handle it himself. He forced himself to let the officer depart. No governor, or spoiled former son of a governor, no matter how delusional and vengeance fed, would have offered to do so.

The other Syndicate loose end he would fix himself tonight before he made his way tomorrow to Mer for the crucial council meeting.

He needed to prevent close observation from The Syndicate agent playing kitchen girl and avoid any of those working at the mansion challenging him as an imposter as he spent more and more time without the mask. So, as soon as they landed back in Tuath, he had ordered a rotation of the entire mansion staff. Playing the paranoid and angry leader, he had told his militia he thought spies from Mer among the previous mansion and family attendants.

Sirul had noted where the woman he suspected a Syndicate agent now worked, barely a stone’s throw from the mansion. Of course, an agent of The Syndicate would try and stay as close to the ruler as possible.

Making his way to his quarters, the rooms Seulman had occupied earlier this year, Sirul changed out of flowing governor’s robes for his worn black leathers.

He took the mask off and secured it against his chest under his tunic. He sat for a moment on the bed, taking in several breaths and shaking his head to rid himself of the smothering and taxing sensation the item induced. He was pleased with his progress in wearing it less and less. The first few days back in Tuath, he had worn it almost constantly out of paranoia which had left him wholly exhausted each evening. Nothing made the experienced assassin more concerned than feeling depleted and weak.

Pulling his hood low over his face, he slipped off the room’s balcony. He quickly crossed the small yard before going effortlessly over the mansion wall and landing silently on the quiet street below. He would have moved on the Syndicate agent sooner, but he could not ignore the advantage this particular evening provided the task at hand. The spring equinox had been the night before, and in tropical Tuath, it was celebrated with as much wine and revelry as participants could stand. The benefit to Sirul being that the next day and night, the streets and taverns were as silent and empty as they would be all year.

He made his way into the shadows of an alley between the tavern she worked in and the path he had seen her taking home late at night and waited. Finally, after several hours she appeared.

One moment she was taking her short walk to her home and bed after a tiring day at work, and the next, she was in The Great Dream.

Sirul lowered the body quietly to the ground. Grabbing a knife that he had confiscated from his kitchen after dinner, he cut her open. Cutting a piece of her clothing off, he used it to paint ‘FEAR MER’ with her blood on the side of the building. The whole activity was all done in mere moments, and Sirul was shortly climbing his way back up onto his balcony when he heard a shout from below.

He dropped from his position halfway over the railing like a hunting cat. Facing the two men confronting him, he was more than ready to add to the evening’s tally.

“Hey, is that you, sir?” one of the uniformed guards patrolling the mansion lawn asked in a shaky and confused voice.

Sirul froze for a moment, thinking through several ways of disposing of the guards when they recognized him as an imposter. Forcing his killer instincts aside for a moment, he realized this was just another opportunity to test how well they would accept his face as Myrlman’s. He slowly pulled off his hood but did not explain his actions.

“You all right, sir?” the other asked.

“I am fine. I couldn’t sleep. Carry on with your duties,” Sirul answered.

Both guards raised their eyebrows in confusion and stared at him for an awkward moment before the first one to hail him responded, “Uh, all right, sir, you have a good evening.”

Sirul nodded in response and went back to climbing up the balcony, this time making sure to do it in a strained and clumsy fashion.

After he disappeared back into his quarters and was out of earshot, the guards turned to each other. “He was an ass before his father died, but he’s downright odd nowadays.”

The other guard nodded and smiled. “One slain pirate in desperation on a ship, and he’s out here sneaking around pretending he is some great assassin.”

They laughed at each other and continued their patrol.